


The Rain Falls Softly in Geneva

by byhisownstandardshefailed



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byhisownstandardshefailed/pseuds/byhisownstandardshefailed
Summary: A quick one shot written from Laurens' perspective about the morning he leaves Geneva. Harry is a pain in the ass, Francis is not a great boyfriend and John considers himself funny.





	The Rain Falls Softly in Geneva

“Jacky wake up,” a high pitched voice demands from somewhere above me. I realize that it’s my impudent 11 year old brother Harry who is attempting to rouse me. I keep my eyes tightly shut and attempt to convince him that I’m still asleep. Perhaps if I succeeded in this he would leave me alone. Unfortunately, my father had fostered perseverance in his children and my brother, regrettably, was no exception. I feel his oddly damp hand patting my cheek in an attempt to get my attention. It won’t work, I assure myself smugly. Wait, why in God’s name is his hand wet? A dozen horrible explanations flood my mind, I can’t ignore this.  
“Why is your hand wet?” I ask sternly, my eyes still shut. I feel him startle at this, and I can’t deny my amusement.  
“It’s raining” He explains.  
“Why is your hand wet?” I repeat. I look up at him through sleep heavy eyes, the room is still mostly dark save for a candle Harry brought.  
“I put my hand out the window to check that it was really raining,” he tells me.  
“Opposed to what? Fairies dancing on the shingles?” I retort.  
“No, I just had to be sure.”  
We stare at one another in awkward silence for a moment before I pull the blankets up around myself and turn my back to him.  
“Go back to bed Harry. And don’t forget to put out the light.” I remind him.  
I feel his eyes on me. I don’t understand why he won’t return to his damn bed, it’s well before dawn and we are travelling tomorrow.  
“Why are you in bed with Francis?” he asks. He’s seen us in bed together dozens of times and yet the question still startles me. I roll back over to face him.  
“I was cold” I tell him, “Now go away.”  
To my dismay he seats himself on the bedside floor and rests his chin on the mattress, mere inches from my face.  
“When are we leaving?” he demands. The boy is 11, I had hoped that he would have outgrown asking foolish questions. My sister Patsy was four years younger than I and had been far more sensible. In all fairness she is a girl and my father often said that she had been imbued with more sense than all of his sons combined. I would have taken offense at this had it not been so blindingly obvious. I could hardly claim to be in possession of any caution or good sense and my brothers are certainly lacking. Jemmy is a cheerful little fellow though a bit odd, but Harry is a nuisance like no other and when in the company of his younger brother they become the very gods of destruction. I give him a bit of a glare before responding, “After breakfast and when the rain stops. Go back to sleep. Please.” I’ve been reduced to begging it seems, my brother however is a merciless interrogator. Meanwhile Francis is blissfully asleep beside me, the lucky bastard having left his siblings in Carolina.  
“What if it rains while we are riding and there isn’t a town for miles and miles?” he asks.  
“You have an oilcloth, cloak and coat you’ll be perfectly fine.” I assure him, “It’s still summer anyways, it’s still quite warm.”  
“You’re cold and we’re still inside.” He reminds me. I pull the blankets around me and roll away from him. “I’ll wear a coat. Go away.”  
He has the impudence to poke me in the side. I ignore him, and the urge to toss him out the window into the damn rain he keeps whining about. His cold little hand comes to rest on my cheek again.  
“You feel warm.” he states.  
“That’s because I’m not dead.”  
He puts his hands on his own cheeks.  
“My hands feel cold.” Harry warns me.  
“You must be ill, you had best run back to bed and warm up before it spreads to your head and you die.” I suggest.  
“That’s not possible.” he says shakily and presses his hands to his sides.  
“Oh yes it its. Death by the cold is quite common, especially in children.” I assure him.  
“You don’t know that for certain.” He quips.  
“It was in one of my books from when I wanted to be a doctor.” I tell him. He looks at the small stack of books on the nightstand.  
“Which one?” he asks.  
I scan the selection and reach for the biggest one, Blackstone’s Commentaries. William Blackstone was a man of the law, not the sciences but Harry is blissfully ignorant of this. I offer it to him.  
“Here, you can borrow it if you like. You’ll need something to read in your sickbed if you stay here much longer.”  
He takes a step back and eyes the book warily.  
“Show me the part about dying from cold.” he demands.  
I begin to realize that I may have dug myself in a bit too deep. This will require me to sit up in bed as well. The cool air rushes to fill the gap between my skin and night shirt and I begin to regret my decision very much. To oblige my brother I open the text, glance at the table of contents then flip through the pages. I find a page that suits my liking and began quoting the imaginary medical text, “A common affliction in children is caused by a prolonged exposure to the cool night air. The initial symptom is a chill felt in the hands and feet,” I watch my brother check his fingers and toes before continuing. “The illness spreads through the limbs to the torso which causes uncontrollable vomiting, defecating and a greenish hue seen in the complection of the patient. If treatment is delayed too long the symptoms are often irreversible. In some cases the illness infects the head and results in an expulsion of blood from the eyes and mouth before death takes the patient. Luckily--”  
“What the hell are you reading Jack?” Francis mutters, cutting me off.  
“Blackstone’s Commentaries” I tell him. He stares back at me incredulously. I smile and pat his shoulder before continuing. “Luckily the early symptoms are easily remedied by moving the patient to a warmer location and allowing them at least an hour of sleep which will allow the body to heal more rapidly.” I look up at my brother, daring him to question my expertise. He looks skeptical but keeps his mouth shut.  
“Off to bed with you, doctor’s orders.” I order.  
“You’re not a doctor.” He reminds me as he takes his candle and wanders back to his own bedroom.  
I could have been. I would have been if our father had allowed it.  
Francis interrupts my thoughts by wrapping his arms around around my waist and pulling me closer to his chest. His chin rests on my shoulder and his hand finds mine.  
“Blackstone’s Commentaries?” he asks.  
“You should read it.” I tell him with a smirk.  
“You’re ridiculous Jack.”  
“Shhhh, we have a whole hour before my patient returns.” I remind him.  
“You have plans for this hour?” he asks coyly.  
“I had planned on sleeping.”  
“It is early,” Francis agrees.  
I turn over to face him.  
“I’m going to miss you.”  
He carefully pushes my hair back from my face and studies me for a moment. His eyes drink me in like he’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment.  
“This has to stay in Geneva,” he reminds me.  
“Then it’s a good thing we are in Geneva.”  
“That’s not what I mean.”  
There’s a sharpness to his voice that catches me off guard. I withdraw from him slightly, “What do you mean?”  
“You’re leaving.” he says quietly.  
“I am, but I’ll be back.” I assure him.  
“You don’t know that.”  
“I have a plan. I’ll meet my father in the city and I’ll tell him I want to speak to some of the other students of the bar at Middle Temple and come back to him with tales of drinking, whoring and general ungentlemanly debauchery at the college. He’ll be begging me to return to Geneva.”  
“That’s a terrible plan.” Francis says sleepily.  
“Don’t dismiss it unless you can offer a better one.” I tell him.  
He reaches for me again and holds me tightly against him. “You could just stay here and keep my bed warm.”  
“I’m sure my father would love that idea. His eldest son abandons his studies to play mistress to Francis Kinloch.”  
“How scandalous. I rather like the sound of that. You’d make a wretched lawyer anyways.”  
“I’d make an excellent lawyer, though I fear the monotony of the courtroom might make me wretched.” I admit.  
“Jack,” Francis interrupts pulling me closer to him and pressing a kiss to my forehead, “This could be the last time we get to be together like this.”  
I tense in his arms. “No, I’m coming back and even if I don’t surely we’ll be together back in Carolina.”  
“We both know that’s not going to happen.”  
I pull back from him. “Francis, we’ve never been caught. We’ll be fine.”  
His hand rests on my shoulder, and he swallows nervously before speaking.  
“We’ll have wives by then Jack.”  
“If we must,” I agree, “But surely you won’t let your affections be diminished by a petticoated wench.”  
“Don’t speak so disparagingly of my future wife Laurens.”  
“You plan to abandon me after marriage?” I ask incredulously.  
He carefully pulls me in closer to him, tries to console me with a kiss, closed mouthed and chaste. His comfort tastes bitter on my lips.  
“No, we shall be friends. Dear friends, but not in this manner.” he says softly. It’s as if he thinks that he will not hurt me if he stabs me in the chest with the same tender affection he offers these words with.  
“Dear friends?” I ask, choking on the words. They leave me with the most vile feeling.  
“Yes of course, I may not love you as I do now but you will be no less dear to me.” he assures me, holding me to him. I want to pull away, his touch almost repulses me, but I can’t bring myself to. I’m losing him and part of me wants to make this awful moment last as long as possible, to draw out my suffering as I’m afraid of what comes after. Perhaps this is how dying men feel. I had seen them on sickbeds, stinking and suffering because they were too stubborn to let go. I had assured myself that I would not die like that, and yet here I was exhibiting the same cowardance, only I wasn’t dying. Perhaps that was worse.  
“Jack?” Francis takes my hand again and brings it to his lips. I look up at him with resentment and his face falls. Good, I find something gratifying in the fact that he is suffering from this too. I pull my hand away from his. He relaxes his hold on me and I put a fair bit of distance between us.  
“Don’t touch me.” I tell him sharply. He frowns and withdraws.  
“Jack you’re acting like an upset girl.” he chides.  
“It’s a shame I’m not one. Perhaps you would have kept me.” I retort.  
“You’re playing the fool. We have a morning together to say a proper farewell and you insist on being a dramatic idiot and rejecting my affections.” he says.  
“Perhaps you should have waited until after you’d had me one last time before you told me it was the last time.” I tell him bitterly.  
“For God’s sake Jack.” Francis curses.  
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I ask.  
“No, of course not. I love you. You’re my dearest friend and so much more.” he insists.  
I turn my back to him to hide my wet eyes. Tears are for women and children, my father must have said that a thousand times. Francis sighs and gently reaches out to me. His fingers trace a pattern over my back and I can’t bring myself to pull away again.  
“Jack” he says softly.  
“Yes?”  
He pulls me back to face him and I’m forced to meet his eyes.  
“I’ll still love you.” he promises.  
“But you don’t wish to be with me?”  
“We can’t. You know this. We’ll have wives and children, I doubt we’ll be able to sneak away for more than a moment.” He explains.  
“Men travel together and share a bed, wives leave to visit their family, or perhaps I could remain a bachelor. It’s not unheard of.” I sound pathetic. We both know that these fantasies are far fetched at best.  
“Have you ever courted a girl Jack?” Francis asks suddenly.  
“No, my father said to keep to my books and let the fairer sex trouble me when I was older.” I tell him. I realized that I had been making that excuse quite a lot. In truth I had never found the young ladies in my life to be a distraction. I liked my sister’s company well enough and I had made a few female friends over the years but I had never experienced the obsession that plagued my peers. This had always puzzled Francis.  
“You’re not a molly are you Jack?” he asks, a cruel edge in his words.  
An odd question, as any behavior that might have indicated that had taken place in his bed. He had been an active participant. Perhaps I should ask the same of him.  
“I’m not sure what you want me to say, if I’m a molly you most certainly are as well.”I respond.  
“I meant to ask if you think you could be happy with a woman in your bed.” He says slowly.  
“I would prefer you in my bed.” I tell him.  
“That wasn’t the question.”  
“To be fair, I have only had you.” I say trying to talk my way around this subject.  
“I think we could argue about who has had who.” he smirks. I’m in no mood to be belittled.  
“Don’t mock me.” I warn.  
“I would never.” He assures me.  
“Would you still love me if I was?” I ask quietly.  
His silence scares me, but he puts his arms around me and pulls me close again.  
“I don’t think you are.” He assures me. His words fail to comfort me. Something deep inside me wants to tell me that I am a molly, hardly better than a cheap whore.  
“No, of course not.” I agree, lying to myself.  
“You’ll find a girl in London or Carolina.”  
“Yes.” I tell him. It seems to make him happy to hear this. He holds me to him tightly and presses a kiss to the side of my face.  
“Let’s put this foolishness behind us. If this is the last I am to see of you for a while I should like to have given you a proper goodbye.”  
“I thought we just established that neither of us were mollies.” I remind him. I’m hardly in the mood for the type of farewell he has in mind.  
“No one will know.” he argues, his hand venturing south from where it had rested over my ribcage. I consider for a moment. If this is my last chance I should take advantage of it shouldn’t I? Yet when his hand reaches his destination I find myself twisting away from his touch.  
“Stop, I can’t” I say quickly, pulling his hand away. He retreats but looks at me as if he’s disappointed. I almost relent but the thought of such an act disgusts me at the moment. Francis does not push his advance farther.  
“May I keep holding you? We can sleep or discuss something else?” he offers quickly. I accept his terms and press myself against him. This would have been wonderful if I could rid my mind of thoughts of our impending separation and our most recent discourse.  
“Go to sleep, you’ll be in the saddle all day. A little more rest will do you good.” he tells me. I can’t argue with that. “I’m sorry.” I say softly. He nods and kisses my cheek. “I’m going to miss this.” He admits. I take his hand and hold it close to my heart. “So will I.” I agree.  
I must have fallen asleep like that, for when I wake the room is lit with the soft light of early morning. Francis seemed to have been woken as well as I felt his fingers mindlessly tracing circles over my sides.  
“What time is it?” I ask.  
“Damned if I know, I sleep with you not my pocket watch.”  
I start to rise from bed to get it and he quickly tugs me back down. “It’s still raining, you’ll have to wait for it to stop and then for the mud to dry enough for the footing to be good for the horses.” he reminds me. His argument may be passive but I find myself back under the covers. “You’re an evil temptress.” I tell him.  
“You’re easily tempted Jack.” he smirks.  
“Not for much longer. Leave that to Harry.” I assure him.  
“Perhaps we could accidentally leave a chair in front of his door.” Francis suggests.  
“Tempting, but he might unpack his bag again if he hasn’t already.” I say dryly.  
“Cheer up Jack, you’re only riding across France with the little bastard.”  
I roll over to face him. “That little bastard, refuses to ride faster than a trot,” I remind him, “I’d get there faster if I tied him to the saddle and led his horse instead of coaxing him to gallop.”  
“Your breath smells awful.” Francis interjects. I glare at him.  
“Perhaps I will rid you of my good company then.” I smirk.  
“And your foul breath.” he chuckles to himself.  
“You’re an arse.” I remind him. He knows.  
“No come back. I’ll miss you!” he whines as I sit up.  
“Get up.” I tell him sweetly as I pull back the blankets. He groans in response and buries his face in the pillows.  
“The rain looks like it’s about to stop.” I say quietly.  
“You don’t know that.” he argues.  
“Does it matter? My fate is sealed.” I tell him.  
“You had said that you might return.” he reminds me. I pull him onto my lap. “I’ll do my best.” I agree, “You know my father. It will take some convincing on my part.” He nods and reaches up to touch my face.  
“Your eyes are pretty.” he says quietly.  
“Oh really? You can’t have me that easily.” I tease.  
“Almost,” he assures himself. We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of us wanting to start the inevitable chain of events that would lead to my departure.  
“I should get up.” I remind him.  
“I think we are at liberty to remain here until Harry remembers we exist.” Francis retorts.  
“Do you think he actually repacked his bag?”  
“Of course not. He’s either asleep or amusing himself somehow.”  
“I’d rather not know.”  
“Good, then stay here.” Francis decides. It’s a tempting offer, but I had stalled long enough. I shift his weight off my lap and stand up slowly. Francis looks disappointed but doesn’t try to cajole me back into his bed. He watches me instead as I gather the clothing I had set out, wash quickly and start to put my hair back.  
“Come here, I’ll do it. You always make it lopsided.” Francis says as I attempt to tie a ribbon around a queue that is a bit off center. I sit on the edge of the bed and let him fuss with my hair.  
“I’ll look like a fool without you.” I assure him. I see him smile out of the corner of my eye.  
“Perhaps your father will buy you a wig. Then you’ll never have to bother with this.” he toys with my hair for a moment as he brushes it back. “You’d have to cut a bit of this off though and I rather like it, especially when you’ve just washed.” he adds.  
“I don’t want a wig, it looks silly enough powdered.” I say.  
“Why is that the fashion?” Francis wonders. “Don’t the ladies want to see what they are getting? Or perhaps they like the surprise.”  
“I think they like knowing who can afford to powder their hair.” I remind him.  
“Stop being so cynical Jack.”  
“It’s true.”  
“I suppose. If that’s the case your future wife will be in for a surprise twice over.”  
I frown and glance back at him. “How so?”  
“She’ll meet you with powder white hair, when she washes it out she’ll think you brunette and when it dries she’ll see it’s gold.” he drawls.  
“Was gold,” I remind him. “I’ve darkened with age.”  
“You say that like you’ve already gone grey.” Francis teases. He ties the ribbon in place.  
“Are you done?” I ask.  
“Quite done.” He says happily.  
“Thank you,” I say standing once more. I gather the last of my belongings into my bag, put on my boots and pick up my hat and coat.  
“Are you going to get up and see me off or lounge about all day?” I ask Francis. He smirks at me.  
“I think you’re forgetting your brother and breakfast.” He reminds me.  
“What if I left without him?”  
“Your father would donate you to the nearest monastery.”  
“Donate?”  
“I don’t think they would pay for you. Perhaps he would have to pay them to take you off his hands.”  
“At least I wouldn’t be required to take a wife.” I retort.  
“Something tells me that the men of the Lord would not approve of your alternative, nor your lavish lifestyle.”  
“Is that the pot calling the kettle black again Francis?” I ask coyly. Every vice I had he most certainly shared. Francis shrugs and gets up from the bed.  
“Go get Harry. I’ll meet you downstairs when I’m dressed.”


End file.
